


just grew there wild

by likecharity



Category: Fashion Model RPF, The Dead Weather, The Kills, White Stripes
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Cousin Incest, F/M, Fingerfucking, Frottage, Resolved Sexual Tension, Twincest (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-10 19:00:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/469614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Jack and Meg are twins, Dean and LJ are their brothers, Alison is their cousin who spends the summers with them, and Kate and Karen are sisters who live next door. (And Jamie is still just Jamie.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	just grew there wild

**Author's Note:**

> What _is_ this? This is so ridiculous. I blame [this thing that Jack said](http://likecharity.tumblr.com/post/11991831035/if-you-have-a-sort-of-brother-sister-relationship) and [restlesspulse](http://restlesspulse.livejournal.com) for encouraging me to make something of it. XD Title from 'Use It' by The New Pornographers. And I feel like I should mention that I've messed with everyone's age differences a little bit to make things work, but you know, I've also made a bunch of them _related_ , so if you're looking for realism you're in the wrong place.

Last time Alison saw them, she was eleven and they were thirteen, but even five years later she recognizes them instantly. The White twins are all grown up now but their pale faces framed by sleek black hair are so familiar to her, and they still haven't grown out of their odd quirk of only ever wearing three colors—she spots them from a distance in their almost-identical red, white and black outfits, standing out amongst the crowd. When she gets closer, though, she's struck by the way their faces have changed, the lines of Jack's face making him look less boyish, more sternly handsome, and Meg's round-faced, adolescent charm turned into a subtle, gentle elegance.

It's clear that she's changed too, because they don't see her until she's right there in front of them, waving goofily to alert them to her presence, suddenly intimidated.

"Your hair," says Meg softly, and Alison remembers with a flush of embarrassment the mess it had been last time she saw them. She had shaved it all off in a fit of rebellion on the last day of school, shown up at her aunt and uncle's for the summer with it all patchily shorn, ugly.

Jack smiles tightly at her but doesn't say anything until she prompts him with a _hi_ as they head towards the car. "Hi," he says, and if she likes the rough rumble of his deep voice a little too much, she doesn't realise it just yet. "It's been a long time."

***

The house is exactly as Alison remembers it, which is comforting, because she feels daunted by the changes in all of her cousins; the way Dean, at twenty-five, towers over her now and LJ is no longer a scruffy little kid but a teenager with thick-rimmed glasses and peach fuzz. She's surprised to learn that Jack and Meg still share a bedroom, even though they're going on nineteen, but then again, they've always been inseparable. She used to sleep top-to-tail with Meg, remembers staying up whispering with the two of them all night, playing silly little games until they got told off. Now, though, she gets the sofa in the living room.

The first part of her visit passes with little fuss. She'd been worried—five years is a long time, especially considering how little contact they've had in the interim. There was a bit of a feud between their parents that took a long time to patch up, and combined with the success of Alison's band and the touring she's done in the past couple of years, there hasn't been a chance for her to keep in touch with extended family.

It's fun to catch up with Meg again but Alison finds she can't make much headway with Jack—Meg always used to be the quieter one of the pair but now Jack seems barely to speak, preferring to spend time on his own, usually in the garage playing his guitar. He'll get calls from friends and then disappear off to some party or another, without extending an invitation to anyone else. Alison is hesitant to bring it up with Meg, because there's a change in her whenever Jack leaves. When she does ask, Meg mumbles something about their parents encouraging them to spend time apart, and leaves it at that.

They still do spend quite a bit of time together, all three of them—hanging out in the garden, or going to the mall, seeing movies and listlessly wandering through stores. Meg persuades Alison to show off her skills at the skate park outside and in return she gets to sit in the garage and listen to the two of them jam together. They keep trying to get her to sing but she refuses, still too shy even though she's performed in front of audiences now with her band. It's different like this, too intimate, and Jack's curiosity—almost desperation—to hear her voice makes her feel even more self-conscious, though deep underneath it all there is an odd, and growing, desire to please him. He is distant and mysterious to her and he almost doesn't seem like the same person, that little boy she used to roughhouse with as a kid. She wants to bring that boy back; they always used to have fun together and now he's a stranger, a stranger who makes her nerves tingle when he sits down beside her.

***

Kate and Karen, the girls that Alison remembers playing with on her past visits, still live next door. According to Meg, the two of them have been jetting off to London—their original hometown—all the time lately, modelling there, becoming quite big names. Alison isn't surprised; the girls were always so pretty when they were younger, Kate a cute little blonde and Karen with her striking red hair. She bumps into Kate one morning when she sneaks out onto the back porch for a cigarette before her aunt and uncle wake up. There's a section of the fence that's broken and through it she can see a young woman sprawled out on a towel in the middle of the lawn. She realises who it must be and then blushes when she realises Kate is topless, lying on her front in only a little pair of denim shorts.

Kate spots her looking and gets up, pulling on a bikini top before coming over to the gap in the fence. "Hey, can I bum one?" she asks.

"What?" Alison calls. Kate gestures to Alison's cigarettes and Alison nods, trotting over a little clumsily and proffering the pack.

They stand there making small talk and smoking for quite a while before Kate suddenly cries, "Oh, my god. You're not cousin Alison, are you?"

Alison, who'd assumed she knew, blushes again and nods.

"Little Mosshart? No way! Last time I saw you, you were this tall—" Kate places her hand at her own waist, "—and had like, no hair."

"It's been five years," Alison shrugs, almost apologetically, like she needs to be sorry that things have changed.

"Well, fuck me," laughs Kate.

***

"Saw Karen on my way in," says Dean, slinging off his guitar case as he comes into the living room a couple of days later. He prods Jack in the shoulder. "She said to say hi to you. Have you fucked her yet?"

Alison feels Meg stiffen beside her, and they both keep their eyes fixed on the TV, like they're totally engrossed in the infomercial that's on.

"Dean," Jack says sharply.

"Playing hard to get's not really your style," Dean says obliviously, perching on the arm of Jack's chair. "Different girl every day of the week, usually."

"Shut up."

"All right. No need to be modest." Dean slinks off, and the silence in the room is painfully awkward once he's gone.

Later, Alison plucks up her courage, asks Meg, "Is that true, what Dean said? Has Jack been with a lot of girls?" She tries to make it sound casual, but she's not sure she manages.

Meg doesn't look at her. "Yeah," is all she says.

"Oh." Alison isn't quite sure what to say. She feels like she shouldn't be surprised, really; Jack is attractive and talented and interesting—of course he'd have girlfriends. But for some reason it bothers her. She always felt like they were so similar when they were kids, slightly awkward, not fitting in with the crowd. The fact that he's dating makes her feel like _she_ should be by now.

"So does he have a girlfriend at the moment?" Alison asks, and Meg shakes her head, in a way that tells Alison all she really needs to know. Jack _doesn't_ date, but he's been with a lot of girls. Alison can fill in the blanks and it makes her feel even worse for some reason. 

"I don't really want to talk about it, if that's okay," Meg says, and she says it so sweetly, but it's clear to Alison that the subject needs to be dropped right away, and it makes her wonder.

***

Alison steps out of the shower onto the worn bathmat, shivering a little. It's late morning and Jack has been gone for the night, staying over at some nameless friend's. She can't help but wonder if it's a girl—the thought has been going round and round in her head ever since he left. 

Suddenly, the door opens wide and Jack comes barging in, gets all the way into the room before he spots her, naked and dripping in the corner. She expects him to say something, an _oh, sorry!_ before he rushes right back out—but instead he just stands there, staring, speechless. The seconds tick by and they feel like hours; Alison is covering herself with her hands as best she can but she can't seem to bring herself to move and grab the towel, it's like his gaze has hypnotized her.

"Shit," says Jack softly, after what seems like forever. "The bolt—you have to really jam it across. We should've said something."

"It's okay," Alison squeaks.

Jack runs his fingers through his hair and he's still _staring_ at her, and it makes her squirm. She wants him to stop, but at the same time a part of her almost likes it. But just as suddenly as he entered, he's gone, striding quickly back out the room and shutting the door tight behind him. Alison stays there a moment longer. It feels like she's forgotten how to move.

When she comes downstairs for lunch after, neither of them can quite look at one another and just being near him makes her feel strange, like a wire with the plastic stripped off, exposed. If their eyes meet by mistake all she sees is that _look_ he gave her and she doesn't know what to make of it. No one's ever looked at her like that before, and no one's seen her naked, not since she was little. It makes her heart pound.

The tension between them only thickens as the days go on, until Alison is sure she can feel it throbbing between them and any moment that they're left alone together makes her feel sick with anticipation. She doesn't even really know what any of it _means_ , she's never felt like this before. All she knows is that she can't stop thinking about him; she wants to be around him even though it makes her feel sick with something desperate and hungry. When she thinks about her childhood summers spent playing with a little dark-haired boy, building sandcastles and toy race car sets and digging up worms—it makes guilt twist in her stomach. Sometimes when she looks at him she sees herself; one day her aunt jokes that the three of them could pass for triplets and Alison goes hot and doesn't want to look at anyone, afraid that they can all see it on her face, what she's wishing for.

***

It happens on Jack's birthday, when the family are all eating dinner together. Maybe Alison's had a little too much wine, clouding her judgement, or maybe she's just growing tired of this ache. Whatever the reason, when she stretches out her legs beneath the table and her foot knocks Jack's across from her, she doesn't move away. Instead, she leaves her foot resting there against his ankle. She knows it's him from the bare skin she feels—like her, he never wears shoes or socks inside the house—and from the way he suddenly grips his fork a little tighter at the contact. She chews her food deliberately, and gently strokes at Jack's ankle with her toes, feeling the knob of bone, the hair on his leg as she reaches higher. 

She likes the way he goes all tense, the way she can feel his muscles clench up under his touch. His skin is so hot and when someone asks him a question, he stumbles over his words. Some of the family disappear into the kitchen to sort out the cake and Jack stares at Alison fixedly across the table, and she can't tell if his eyes are telling her to stop or that he wants more. There's a part of her that likes that, she thinks, and she doesn't take her foot away even when he's blowing out the candles and all eyes are on him. She feels brave and powerful like she does when she's onstage, like nothing can touch her. He makes her feel like that.

A little later in the evening he disappears upstairs and she follows, casually, acting like she's just going to the bathroom. She finds the door shut when she gets there and she waits a moment, wondering what to do, her palms sweaty and her heart racing—and then the door opens. Jack freezes when he sees her, and slowly she approaches him, not knowing what to do but knowing that she needs to do it. She brushes against him, and they could still pretend that she's just squeezing past on her way into the room but then he grips her arm tightly and she turns in surprise and they're _so close_ and suddenly the urge to kiss him is overwhelming.

"Don't," he says in an undertone, as if he's reading her mind, and then he's gone in a second, back downstairs and leaving her alone, still feeling the pressure of his fingers against her skin.

***

Jack lies awake that night, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Usually he talks his problems through with Meg; they stay up all night whispering to each other, using their made-up twin language if it's seriously top-secret. But he knows this is something he has to keep to himself, something he can't even tell her. She is jealous enough of the girls he fools around with, he knows—jealous that he can share a part of himself with them that she can never experience. 

He wants to go downstairs. That's all he knows. He wants to go downstairs and _be_ with Alison. He can't stop thinking about her, curled up on the sofa all alone, maybe wide awake too and thinking of him. He remembers the way her soft bare foot brushed against his, and he shifts uncomfortably, feeling a flood of arousal. He needs to go downstairs. He needs _her_.

Quietly, he slips out of bed, pulling on a sweater and opening the door as slowly as he can so as not to wake Meg. He looks back at her over his shoulder and his heart tugs a little; it feels so wrong to keep a secret from her. He tiptoes downstairs and hovers outside the living room uncertainly, peering in through the slightly-open door. Suddenly he realises what he's doing, realises what a bad idea it is to be alone with Alison in the night. He won't be able to resist, and he _has_ to. They can't, they just can't be together. It's wrong and it's risky and it can't last, and if anyone found out—he doesn't want to think about what might happen.

He's about to turn back when Alison stirs, murmurs a sleepy "Jack?"

Jack freezes, and then gently pushes open the door. "I was just getting some water," he whispers. "It's all right. Go back to sleep."

In the dark, he sees her sit up. "Come here."

"Alison..."

"Just come here a second."

Jack sighs, entering the room and going to her. She moves her legs aside and he perches on the sofa, regarding her tentatively in the dark. She reaches across to him, gently touching his arm where it rests in his lap. "Alison," he says a second time, a quiet warning.

"Ja-ack," she whispers back with a nervous giggle, shifting closer. Her nerves are palpable, he can _feel_ the anxiety, the quaver in her voice and her breath, the slight tremble of her hands. The desire seems to radiate off her and he can't stand it.

"We can't," he says sharply, going rigid. He doesn't even want to acknowledge it, didn't want to have to say something like that out loud—but he has to, he can't risk letting this go any further.

"Why not?" she whispers, tilting her head curiously at him. There might be a hurt in her eyes, but it's too dark to say for sure and he doesn't trust himself to look closer.

Jack half-smiles, uncomfortable. Gently, he eases her hand from his arm. "I think you know why not," he tells her, not wanting to say it.

Boldly, Alison moves a little closer, the sheets tangling around her hips. Her baggy t-shirt has slipped down off one shoulder and she's not wearing a bra; Jack can see the creamy bare skin of her shoulder, exposed. It looks so soft. "Don't you want to?" she murmurs and her voice almost breaks, he can tell how hard it is for her to say the words out loud, how brave she's being—and it makes it even harder to say no.

He looks into her eyes and that's it, he snaps back and stands up, rubbing agitatedly at his forehead. He opens his mouth but there's nothing he can say; she looks crestfallen and mortified and it _hurts_. All he can do is go, hurrying from the room and back upstairs into bed.

"Jack?" Meg whispers, a moment after he's settled, his heart thudding much too quickly in his chest. He turns to her, afraid she can see it all in his eyes. "I dreamt you were gone."

He shakes his head, reaching out across the space between their beds to take her hand and squeeze. She smiles sleepily at him. "Just a dream," he assures her, quietly.

***

Jamie is passing through Detroit, touring with his band, and Alison's aunt and uncle agree to let him stay a few days. Alison approaches the subject delicately—after all, it seems rather rude to ask them to put up yet another person, especially one they've never met—but once she explains the situation, they seem quite happy, telling her their policy has always been something along the lines of "the more the merrier." And besides, they remind her, they're not going to be here half the time—they're going away this weekend to visit friends. 

Alison calls Jamie afterwards, shuts herself in the bathroom with the phone and listens to the ringing on the other end of the line with her heart in her throat. She still gets shy calling him—they've said so much to one another in letters and on tapes, but speaking to him in real-time is frightening for some reason. The conversation is a little stilted and awkward but he's pleased with the good news. He gives her a time and she gives him the address, and comes down for lunch barely able to hide her excitement.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Meg asks quietly when Alison sits down. It's clear that the plan has been explained while she was upstairs.

" _No_ ," says Alison, giggling. "He's too old for me. He's twenty-four."

"Ooh, an older man," Kate teases, round for lunch with Karen. "I like the sound of that. Is he fit?"

Alison can feel herself starting to blush, she takes a big bite of her sandwich to avoid answering the question. 

"I'm taking that as a yes," Kate decides. "Where's he from?"

"London," Alison says with her mouth full.

"A kindred spirit! We might be in with a chance!" Karen nudges her sister.

"Shame I'm taken," Kate sighs dramatically. They've all heard about Pete waiting for her back in London, heard about how he's in a famous rock band and he's introduced Kate to all kinds of people, how much he's helped with her career. The two of them seem to fight constantly, on and off every other day—"The trials of a long-distance relationship," Kate told them wisely the other day, world-weary at twenty, "never try it, girls."

They start in on Alison with a barrage of questions, demanding details about this mysterious Englishman, and Alison tells them how she was touring with her band last summer and they ended up staying at Jamie's flat for a little while, how she heard this amazing guitar player upstairs, and one night worked up the courage to speak to him. They've been sending tapes of stuff back and forth ever since.

"And he's _really_ not your boyfriend?" presses Kate.

"You do get kind of starry-eyed when you talk about him," offers Meg. All Alison can do is blush and shake her head, and suddenly there's a clatter from the other side of the room—Jack has finished his lunch and is dumping his dishes in the sink, leaving the room abruptly. Alison watches him go.

"Are you two gonna start a band together?" Karen asks, curiously.

Alison frowns, looking back at her. "We haven't really talked about it. I don't know. There's only two of us, so—"

"You could be like Jack and Meg," Kate interrupts. "They don't need anyone else."

Alison smiles shyly at Meg beside her. "Neither of us play drums..." she says, but the idea sticks with her in a way that it never has before, because Kate's right—Jack and Meg make some of the best music she's ever heard and it's just the two of them, and the idea of being in a band with Jamie and no one else is so perfect that she can't imagine anything better.

***

Jamie shows up after his band's gig on Thursday night, and most of Alison's family—to her obvious embarrassment—wait up for him so they can welcome him to the house. Jamie is tired and sweaty but Alison's aunt and uncle seem charmed by what they call his 'English manners', which is a relief. Something he's learned from touring is that it's _always_ awkward staying over at the houses of people you don't know, but this visit seems like it will go better than most. 

Alison has to relocate to her cousins' room to give Jamie the sofa, at least for the first couple of nights—her aunt and uncle leave on Saturday morning and point out that there'll be an extra bed if anyone needs it, careful to add, with a pointed look in Jamie's direction, that "sharing is for relatives only." Alison blushes at the implication and Jamie, uncomfortable, assures them that he wouldn't even _dream_ of it.

Alison shows Jamie to the sofa, the two of them quiet and awkward—it's been a long time since they saw each other and both are aware of how much they've shared in the interim, the ways they've exposed themselves through art and poetry mailed overseas. 

"I'll be, um—upstairs, first room on the left," Alison says, "if—if you need anything."

Jamie nods, unzipping his backpack. "Thanks, Alison. Night."

He watches her disappear up the stairs, fidgeting with the sleeves of her jumper. He's exhausted from the gig and the travelling, but even so he finds it takes him a long time to get to sleep. He wonders what he's doing here, visiting this sixteen year old girl, sleeping on her relatives' sofa. It's easy to explain on the surface—his band really _are_ passing through Detroit—but it's not as if he couldn't find anywhere else to stay, and he didn't need to add extra days onto the visit. But he just couldn't wait to see Alison again, there's just something about her, something magical that draws him back to her even though it seems dangerous, even though he knows he probably ought to leave it alone. 

He rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. It smells like her, he realises—like her letters, her tapes. He frowns to himself, inhaling as he remembers the time they spent together back in London. It was unlike anything else, and they've kept in almost constant communication ever since, mailing things back and forth. He's shared stuff with her that he's not sure he could imagine sharing with anyone else. It's a creative partnership through-and-through, and she's far too young to consider in any other way, but even so, it bothers him to see the way she is with her cousin Jack, the way they look at each other, the tension between them so obvious that he noticed it almost immediately on entering the house. He reminds himself that they're related, that Alison's been coming here since she was a little girl and the two of them practically grew up together—but there's something in their eyes that he's sure he's not imagining.

He wakes up early to little unidentifiable sounds, and blinks blearily at his surroundings, remembering where he is. He can see Alison fiddling with the doors to the deck, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible as she slides the screen across. He watches her through half-closed eyes as she sneaks outside, leaning against the fence and pulling a packet of cigarettes out of her pocket. She's still in her pajamas, worn plaid trousers and a baggy t-shirt that bears the slogan _Florida Marlins_. Her hair is messy and her face looks very pale and drawn in the bright morning sun. Jamie wants to get up and join her, sit and smoke on the deck with her before everyone else wakes up—but for some reason he holds back, lying there and just watching her as her cigarette slowly burns down and eventually she sneaks back inside. He shuts his eyes quickly, and hears the creaking of the floorboards pause for a long moment before continuing on, Alison's bare feet tiptoeing back up the stairs.

The day is quiet and the kids—as Alison's aunt and uncle call them all—are left to do what they like for the most part. They go see a movie, and Jamie gets to know Jack and Meg, and he finds that his initial concerns do not dissipate throughout the day. Jack and Alison don't really seem to speak to one another much; there is a strained tension between the two of them that Jamie doesn't know quite what to do with. At one point during the movie, something startles Alison and she jumps, grabbing a hold of Jack's arm, and Jamie is surprised to see Jack shake her off abruptly, his face turning hard and angry in a split-second.

That evening, Alison's aunt insists on showing Jamie some old photo albums, ignoring Alison's desperate pleas for her not to. Jamie looks at picture after picture of Alison and the twins as kids; standing in a row in the middle of a paddling pool, lined up on a bench clutching ice cream cones, and so on and so on. Alison is furiously embarrassed, repeatedly begging them to do something else—Jamie's reassuring "You were adorable," only serves to make her blush even more—and Jack seems oddly sullen, studying the photos in silence. There is one of Alison and Jack at about six and eight, standing gleefully inside a cardboard box and hugging tightly—and Jamie sees Jack's fingers tighten on the arm of the sofa when he looks at it, nails digging into the fabric.

***

That night, Alison has to sleep in Jack and Meg's room again, and she almost dreads it. It's so hard to be this close to Jack, and it feels so intimate to be lying across from him in the dark. He only sleeps in a pair of black boxer shorts and his sheets tangle in the night, exposing his skinny pale chest. Alison can't help but stare, picking out the details of his body in the sliver of moonlight that comes in through the blinds. She can see the gentle lines of his ribs, his hipbones, when he stretches in his sleep, and the slight swell of his biceps, and his beautiful face calm and peaceful. It makes her feel hot and uncomfortable, especially squeezed in beside Meg, the body heat and the brush of her soft warm skin under the covers confusing, almost unbearable. In the dark, the twins look even more alike, the little curves of their noses, their thin lips, apple cheeks. Alison has an ache somewhere deep inside that she can't satisfy. 

She almost forgets about Jamie downstairs, it's so powerful. She hasn't known Jamie for long at all but already she knows he's the most important person in her life and it's going to stay that way forever—she's never felt such a connection to anyone before, it feels like they've been drawn together by something cosmic. He's so special to her that she can barely think in his presence, and spending time with both him and Jack today almost drove her insane. But now that she's shut in this hot little room with Jack so close to her, Jamie almost fades away. She has a complex sort of longing for him, she still hasn't worked out the nature of it, but with Jack it's fierce and erotic and simple: she _wants_ him. The worst part is that she knows he wants her too, he just won't _admit_ it.

***

Of course, a party has been planned for the weekend, in the absence of responsible adults. Jack still hasn't had a birthday celebration with friends so there's even more of an excuse, and Saturday—after Alison's aunt and uncle set off—is spent acquiring alcohol and snacks and music, and clearing furniture aside. Jamie isn't sure if he should stay, says maybe he could meet up with the guys from his band if they'd prefer—but Dean assures him he's welcome. Alison can tell Jamie doesn't really want to be there, was looking for an excuse, and she can sympathise. Social situations aren't exactly her forte and the idea of a huge party makes her so nervous she just wants to shut herself in the bathroom all night and hide. It's a relief to have Jamie here, someone who knows even fewer people here than she does, someone she can cling to. It makes her feel like maybe she'll manage after all. 

Things don't quite go according to plan. Kate and Karen are the first guests, Kate showing up in a sequinned gold mini-dress with a bottle of champagne, and Jamie is immediately taken with her. Alison is caught completely off guard—she's never seen Jamie get particularly interested in girls, never seen him flirt, but he seems captivated by Kate. And Kate, going through yet another rough patch with Pete back in London, is thrilled with the attention, listening intently to everything he says, giggling at all his jokes, hanging around him all night. Alison hates them both—Jamie knows full well that she gets nervous at parties, yet he abandons her without a second thought, and she can't help but resent Kate irrationally for taking him away from her.

She ends up sticking with Jack instead—it's still so awkward between them but it's so much better than being on her own. Surprisingly, the twins spend the party almost entirely apart, Meg choosing instead to chat with a guy called Jackson who lives around the block. So Alison is by Jack's side all night, and as the night goes on it gets easier. He introduces her to all of his friends (one, a flamboyantly-dressed long-haired guy named Noel, immediately says "Oh, so this is your hot cousin?" and Alison laughs awkwardly, stunned, as Jack tries to figure out the best way to answer the question). Dean keeps offering her whiskey—the same stuff she remembers him sneaking from the liquor cabinet when he was younger—and she drinks maybe a little too much, but she's having _fun_ and that seems like the most important thing.

She finds that she really likes seeing Jack in this sort of situation, as well, being able to see him with friends and relaxed, joking around. It's hard because she thinks it makes her like him even more, but it feels like the chemistry between them is growing even more and she can't help but be excited by it. She's not even thinking about Jamie at all when she slips off to the bathroom—and walks in on him, pressing Kate up against the wall, his hand beneath her dress.

She stares, completely startled. "Oh! I'm—sorry, I—the lock, it's—" she stammers, and Kate is grinning sheepishly at her with her fingers to her lips while Jamie has leapt back, his arms folded, his body tense, his eyes fixed on hers but his expression unreadable.

Alison just bolts, feeling foolish and ashamed, and so _young_ —she rushes straight into the kitchen for another drink, her face hot and her eyes stinging with tears. She almost runs right into Jack, who is pouring himself another whiskey.

"Hey," he says gently, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she snaps defiantly, snatching the bottle out of his hand and taking a swig straight from it.

He looks at her, doubtfully. "All right, suit yourself." 

He takes his glass and makes to leave the room, but she can't let him. "Jack, wait," she bursts out, and he stops, turns back, waiting expectantly. "Just—" She can't seem to form the words or bridge the gap between them and she wishes he would do it for her. She doesn't care that they shouldn't, doesn't care that it's wrong, doesn't give a shit about the risks. She just _wants_ him and the feeling is so powerful, so overwhelming, that nothing else seems to matter.

But he just stands there, and she has to force herself to take those few steps towards him, to gently prise the glass from his hand and place it on the counter, to lean into him. 

"Alison," he murmurs, a last warning undertone, but she kisses it away, trembling arms wrapping around his neck as she rises up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. He is motionless for what seems like a lifetime, hands clenched tightly by his sides, but then suddenly it is as if a dam breaks and he spins her around, shoves her up against the refrigerator, his whiskey-sharp tongue sliding between her lips. She's breathless, clutching at his back, knowing someone could walk in on them at any second and _not caring_ —a fridge magnet digs into her spine and she clutches at his shirt, kissing him frantically, finding that it's as natural and instinctive as singing and her fear is banished by how good it feels.

There's a clatter from the hallway and they spring apart. Jack grabs his drink and hurries out, finds some drunken friend who's tripped over the coat stand, and Alison goes back to the whiskey and takes a long sip from the bottle, trying to get her heart rate to return to normal. Jack gets dragged off somewhere and she's still standing there in the kitchen drinking when Jamie appears in the doorway. She sees him out of the corner of her eye and even like that she can tell he's dishevelled, his hair mussed up and his shirt wrinkled, untucked.

Alison puts the bottle down and busies herself with screwing the lid back on, not looking at him, feeling her cheeks flush just from his presence—remembering the way he was pressed against Kate in the bathroom and the way Jack crowded her against the fridge. 

"Hey," Jamie says softly. "Um—listen, I'm sorry, about...that."

Alison wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, swallows noisily. "S'okay," she says.

He comes in, closer, and envelopes her in a hug. She sighs, twisting a little against him like she's trying to resist even though she's not, really. She hides her face in his chest, feeling it go hot. She's smiling, unable to stop herself.

"I think someone's had too much to drink," Jamie whispers conspiratorially, pulling back a little to flick her gently on the nose. She wrinkles it at him.

"She's fine," a voice cuts in sharply, and they part and turn to see Jack standing in the doorway. "First tried this whiskey when she was eleven years old. Didn't you, Alison?"

"My cousins are a bad influence," Alison says noncommittally, looking from Jack to Jamie and back again.

***

Not long later, they find themselves in the living room where everyone is watching a film. The room has already begun to transform into a temporary dormitory, a few sleeping bags and blankets spread out over the floor, people lounging on them and staring at the TV. There's only one space, really, and Alison and Jamie follow in Jack's footsteps towards it, trying not to step on anybody's limbs. They settle down, Alison in the middle, and watch in silence. It's a David Lynch mystery and the boys get totally drawn into it, but Alison can hardly concentrate with them on either side of her, so close and warm. Her heart is racing and there's a pulse between her legs, and the film seems to go on forever. When it finally ends, people begin to move, rearranging themselves, ready for bed. 

"Where's Meg?" Jack asks.

"Upstairs with Jackson," someone replies, cautiously, and Jack goes quiet, watching the credits roll on the screen.

"Hey," Alison says in an undertone, nudging Jamie. "What about Kate?" She flushes, realising the many ways the question could be interpreted, and hurriedly adds, "Where did she go?"

"Home," says Jamie hesitantly. "She got a call."

Pete, Alison assumes, and simply nods, trying to pretend she's not so pleased. Karen disappears hand-in-hand with a boy, and some other guests announce they're either going home or off to try and find an actual bed to sleep in. In the end it's just the three of them and another guy, passed out in the corner and wrapped in a tablecloth. Jack flicks off the TV and now the only light in the room is the overhead one, dimmed down low. Alison lies there on her back, her heart pounding, and suddenly the guy in the corner gets to his feet, stumbles out of the room with the tablecloth tangled around his ankles, and flicks the light off on his way.

Jamie laughs, loud and sudden, and it breaks the tension a little bit. "Who was that wanker?"

Alison, giggling, darts a look at Jack, worried he'll be offended—but he's laughing too, and she can feel the vibration of it against her arm. She can only just see his profile in the dark. She can trace the shape of his lips, and she can remember how they felt against hers. Her heart is beating so loud she's afraid that they must both be able to hear it, but it's the good kind of nervous. It feels good to be between them like this. Safe and exciting at the same time.

"What're you smiling at?" Jack hisses, turning over to look at her.

Alison blushes and is thankful that it's dark. "Nothing. I'm just happy. You both make me happy."

Jack chuckles and sits up, gathering up a discarded blanket from the floor and half-heartedly tossing it over the three of them. "Well, goodnight then," he says, rolling over with his back facing Alison. She lies there staring up at the ceiling, and Jamie curls into her, whispers goodnight.

Time passes and she can't imagine sleeping like this, the two of them so close to her. She can hear their breathing and smell them and feel the heat from their bodies and it's just too _much_. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think about it, about that ache that she feels so ashamed and scared of. There's a slight rustle of movement, a sigh. She senses Jack rolling over to face her and her heart almost stops.

She's not actually sure that either of them are really sleeping, it all feels pretend. Experimentally, she opens one eye, and smiles guiltily when she sees Jack staring back at her, mere inches away. Her heart leaps up into her throat; he was _watching_ her. His expression is very set and she can't quite make it out in the dark. She wants to kiss him again so badly, but Jamie is just behind her and she doesn't know if he's still awake or not. She shifts like she's just trying to get comfortable, and ends up closer to Jack, staring boldly into his eyes.

This time, he's the one to kiss her. He is gentle and slow, like this time he's sure, cupping her face in his hand. Alison almost whimpers when their lips meet and she can feel Jamie curled against her back, their legs all but intertwined under the thin blanket. Jack deepens the kiss and Alison squirms. It feels wrong, doing this so close to Jamie, but then to her surprise she feels him pressing closely in against her back, one hand curving over her hip, rubbing soothingly as if to say, _it's okay._ She shivers, aware of him watching as she curls a trembling hand around Jack's shoulder and clings.

Their kissing grows more heated and she jumps when she feels his hand slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. It's so strange to feel someone else's fingers against the bare skin of her stomach, it makes her tremble, and he whispers, "All right?" gruffly against her lips, and all she can do is nod weakly as his hand finds her breasts, caressing the slight swell of them so tenderly, his callused fingers brushing over her nipples and making them hard. His hand slides lower, and she feels his fingers on the button of her jeans and she can't stop shaking, feeling herself blushing furiously.

"All right?" he whispers again, and she just nods, rapidly, tilting her hips up towards him and kissing him again, messy, unable to focus. She's so nervous that she can't breathe properly, but her body wants this so _badly_ , even if she's afraid to think about it. She feels Jamie clutching at her hip and curling more tightly around her, holding her, his lips pressed into her shoulder, the cotton of her shirt. It should feel wrong but it feels so much better, such a comfort, to have him here.

Jack twists the button of her jeans and tugs at the zipper and she feels his hand gently ease between the waistband of her panties and her skin, softly down until he's cupping her _there_ , and she's almost throbbing, and all she can do is cling to him and reach back and grab Jamie's hand on her hip, tightly intertwining their fingers as Jack begins to really touch her. It feels so good that she almost sobs, and he kisses her cheek, stroking insistently. 

A part of her wants to touch him, too, but she's too scared, and she doesn't think she _could_ anyway—the movement of his fingers between her legs makes her brain turn to static and all she can do is grind desperately against his hand and bite her lip to keep from moaning and clutch weakly at both of them until something explodes within her and she's shaking madly, body sparking like she has pins and needles all over. Jamie holds her through it, wrapping himself right around her and holding her tight, murmuring things she can't quite process. 

Jack draws his hand away and it's wet when he reaches for hers, finding it still linked with Jamie's. She's surprised to see him start and jerk back, looking suddenly flustered, and she pulls the two of them close in around her, listening to the thud of her heartbeat gradually slow down until she falls asleep.

***

Jamie wakes up early, with a sinking feeling as he looks at the two tangled bodies beside him and remembers. He knows he shouldn't have done it—he may not have had an active involvement but it still leaves him feeling sick and guilty in the pit of his stomach. He should have been the responsible adult, discouraged them maybe, kept them apart or at least left the room when he realised what was about to happen. But he felt the need to be there with her, to share this with her. 

He remembers walking in on Alison with the whiskey, remembers worrying that she might have been drunk. He wonders if he should have made sure that she was _ready_ for what Jack wanted. He feels another wash of guilt, suddenly worried that someone took advantage of her and he did absolutely nothing about it, simply because of some strange shameful excitement he felt from the situation, from being close to her in a way he never thought he could be.

He has planned to leave today—he's touring for another month and then going back home, and he hates to think what might happen in his absence, what he might miss. As far as he knows Alison is only staying for another couple of days but he doesn't want to leave her alone with Jack for a moment, suddenly possessive of her, and he feels disgusted with himself for it—she's not his, she never has been and she never will be. What stands between the two of them is larger than the barrier that she faces with Jack, somehow, and he knows they'll never break it down.

Alison wakes, nuzzling into his chest, and he gently eases her back. "Hmm?" she mumbles sleepily, blinking at him. She looks even younger than usual, somehow, her eyes small in the morning light and her face sweet, innocent. He remembers how she's trembled so violently against him, how he heard her breath catch in her throat.

"I should get going," he says, disengaging himself from her, getting to his feet unsteadily and looking around for his backpack. She sits up, leaving Jack sprawled beside her. She stares at him, looking crestfallen, and he turns away, finding his bag and stuffing his things into it. He leaves the room, looking for his shoes, and he can hear her trotting after him.

"Wait, are we—" she bursts out, voice wavering, when she finds him in the hallway by the door, pulling on his boots.

"We're okay," he assures her, kissing her on the forehead, quick and chaste. "I just—I have to go. Send me something, okay? Something for me to come home to?"

She still looks worried, and he hates it, but he can't stay. He just can't be around this; it feels dangerous. "Uh huh," she says in a small voice, and, apparently on impulse, leans in and presses a kiss to his forehead, too.

He'd like to say he leaves without looking back, but it's not true. That will never be true, not when it comes to Alison.

***

Jack is awake when Alison returns to the living room, and she sits back down beside him, feeling the tension crackle in the air. She wants to kiss him again, wants the reassurance that she hasn't fucked _this_ up, too—but before she can work up the courage, there's a creak of floorboards and Meg enters, tiptoeing in and then smiling when she sees that they're awake. 

"Hi," she says softly. "I just thought—maybe we should clear up, Mom and Dad are going to be back soon."

There's a tightness to her that is becoming more familiar, a discomfort, a recognition of the same tension that Alison feels. It makes her feel guilty, like she's taken Jack from her, but she doesn't know what to do about it and it doesn't seem quite right. The three of them tidy up the room in silence, turf out the other guests, wash the glasses and throw out the trash. It's a courtesy, really—Alison is sure that her aunt and uncle will know full well that they've thrown a party—but it seems necessary and so they go about the tasks, brisk and businesslike, enlisting the help of a reluctant Dean and a worryingly hungover young LJ.

The adults return home and turn a blind eye, and by dinner time it begins to feel like nothing ever happened at all—it's as though Jamie was never here. But then, halfway through the meal, Alison suddenly feels Jack's foot brush hers under the table. She can feel his eyes on her and she doesn't dare look back, busying herself with cutting up her food as she feels his toe gently stroking at her ankle. The family stays up watching TV until late and she ends up beside Jack on the sofa, the two of them squeezed together, the proximity of him so distracting it addles her brain. All she can think of is his fingers against her, the heat of his breath on her ear, his lips smearing across her cheek as he stroked at her until she was starry-eyed and breathless.

Eventually, everyone disappears off to bed and Alison is back on the sofa once again. Her pillow smells like Jamie now and it makes her feel dazed, thinking of him, how he came and went so quickly. She wonders if she ruined it, if what they had has been destroyed, if the magic is gone and if it was her fault. She wonders if he's jealous, if he's afraid that Jack is more important to her, or he simply doesn't want to share her with him. She wonders what she could do to show him how much he means to her, to fix whatever it is that went wrong.

The stairs creak and she sits up abruptly, her pulse immediately quickening. She listens, straining to hear the tiniest of sounds in the dead of the night, and then the door slowly opens and Jack is standing there, in only his boxers, backlit by the nightlight in the hall. He says nothing as he comes towards her and she kisses him the moment he sits down, passionate, unable to stop herself. In seconds he's on top of her, her legs wrapped around him, his hand under her t-shirt, and all they can do is rub against one another, grinding quick and fierce, like desperate animals. Alison can't help making these tiny little moans and to her surprise, Jack suddenly clamps a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet, whispering "They'll hear," and she feels a rush of hot excitement and writhes frantically against him, trying to find that beautiful release she felt last night.

***

Alison is due to leave the following day, and she's all packed and ready to go when Jack drags her into the garage where Meg is sitting at her drum kit, waiting. 

"I have to go," Alison says, uncertainly, unsure of what's going on. It hurts to say; she doesn't want to leave and she doesn't know when she'll be able to come back. It's hard just to look Jack in the eye—she knows he feels the same, and it seems like it'll be obvious to everybody, all of their longing and their secrets, the things they never got the chance to do.

"Sing for me," Jack begs, pushing a microphone into her hand. "Please."

"Jack..."

" _Please_ ," he implores, and she's never heard him like this before, so openly admitting that he needs something from her. "Just once, before you go."

He passes her a folded piece of paper and she opens it hesitantly, sees that it's lyrics from one of the songs she's watched Jack and Meg play so she knows the tune. Jack is pulling on his guitar and Alison squirms uncomfortably. She can't sing here in the daylight in front of just the two of them, but there's something in Jack's eyes that makes her want to, like she wants to leave him with something that will impress him and make him miss her when she's gone.

She grips the microphone tightly. Jack starts playing and Meg starts in with the beat and Alison shuts her eyes and _sings_. She doesn't even pretend that she's somewhere else, she just sings for him, and if her voice quivers at first it doesn't matter, because by the end of the song it's stronger than ever and he's joining in, leaning in close to her to share the microphone and their voices twist around each other in a beautiful howl that makes her knees weak.

"Stay," Jack says, as the sounds ring out at the end of the song, reverberating around the small garage. "Stay. Sing with us. Come on. Fuck it, we'll start a band."

"The three of us?" Meg speaks up.

"I dunno. Dean and LJ too. Just—something, we need to make something from this. Please, Alison, stay."

Alison opens her mouth without even knowing what's going to come out, and then suddenly she's saying, "I'm moving to London." 

It's like she made the decision quietly in the back of her head without even realising, but as soon as she says it out loud it sounds true and definite and she's determined. She's going to move to London and she's going to live with Jamie and if their magic is gone they're going to fucking get it back.

Jack frowns at her. "What?"

"I'm moving to London," Alison repeats, and she sounds even more sure of herself now, ready for adventure.

"I heard you."

She sees hurt in Jack's eyes behind the anger and she feels that tug in her heart, the push-and-pull of the love she has for both of them—but she knows this is what she has to do, it's her calling, her meaning. There is time for everything else later; Jack is family, he will always be here for her. She throws herself at him, hugging him tightly. "One day," she murmurs in his ear, feeling Meg's eyes on them. "One day."

He taught her to go with her gut.


End file.
